Castle Ficathon Winter 2015: Beach Reading
by CharacterDriven
Summary: In October of 1998, Stanford sophomore Kate Beckett takes an Indian Summer trip to the beach, where she quickly finds herself in over her head.


_All the characters belong to ABC/Marlowe, not me. No infringement intended, no copyright claimed on my part._

 _I love these people. Thanks, everyone, for sharing that love.  
_

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 **Beach Reading**

 **October 10, 1998, Santa Cruz Municipal Beach, California  
**

The mid-morning bus from San Jose emerged from the redwood-shrouded foothills, turned off Highway 17, heading west, and ended its route at the Santa Cruz Beach Boardwalk. Kate stood, hefted her backpack over one shoulder, and tucked her rolled-up beach towel under one arm. She disembarked, vaguely thanking the driver through her wall of headphones and sunglasses, and stepped down onto the concrete promenade near the municipal wharf. She was greeted by a soft, warm breeze, the smell of ocean, and the screams of a flock of seagulls fighting over an abandoned tray of deep-fried artichoke hearts.

Santa Cruz Bay is shaped roughly like a southwest-facing horseshoe. Directly before her, the long, concrete Santa Cruz Municipal Pier reached over ½ mile out into the water. It was littered with tourists, and fishing line dangled down into the water among its pillars. Over on her left, facing Santa Cruz's main beach, she heard the screams and tinny music of the Boardwalk. (Currently playing: FogHat's _Slow Ride_ ). The Boardwalk boasted one of the largest wooden roller coasters in the world. She wasn't interested in that, though; she'd spent enough time at Coney Island and wasn't much impressed by cheesy rides, classic rock, and rigged games of skill. That's the kind of experience a teen shares with friends, giggling and rolling your eyes at how stupid it all is, pretending not to be scared until your stomach rises up into your throat with a scream. Today, at almost 19 years old, Kate considered herself too sophisticated. Also, she was alone, all her old friends left behind in New York.

She was five weeks into her third semester of college. She'd started at Stanford, traveled for a semester in Kiev to study Russian lit and international relations, then returned to Stanford to resume her pre-law focus. She'd made a point of not trying to make any close friends, because she wanted to concentrate on her academic work.

But that morning, after spending a hard week of studying, she awoke with every drop of blood in her body screaming to get the hell out of her dorm room, just for once, before winter set in. Here it was, Saturday at noon-ish, and it was a warm Indian summer day, the sky perfectly clear and a deep blue, the teal-colored ocean rolling in respectable waves onto a cream-colored beach.

She deliberately chose Cowell's Beach, to her right, because it seemed quieter, and she'd heard one might see the surfers catching waves on Steamer Lane. She headed down the broad concrete stairs onto powdery sand dotted with beach umbrellas, well-oiled tourists, and the occasional driftwood or wad of reddish, fly-ridden, drying kelp. On the north side of the beach, a beige sandstone bluff rose. Its cracks sprouted cress, fluffy-looking pampas grass, and red Jupiter's Beard. Kate strode to the base of the bluff, where the overhanging rock wall already cast a narrow shadow, and laid out her beach towel in its shade.

She undressed from her shorts and tee to reveal the ugliest bikini in the history of humanity (aside from that monstrosity I wore to my 8th Grade Graduation Picnic at Turtle Rock Ranch). At the very tail-end of June in California, all the swimsuit racks are picked clean despite the fact that summer itself often lasts through October. She had forgotten to pack a swimsuit when she came out from New York, she wasn't about to buy a $50 Speedo one-piece since she rarely swam, and so she'd settled for what she could find for $12 at the Marshall's clearance rack in East Palo Alto. The top and bottom were hopelessly mismatched. The top was purple and teal striped, a halter that tied at neck and back, with a cheap plastic clasp at the front, stabilizing the two wire cups yet apparently poised for quick release, just in case she got lucky. The bottoms were white with black Dalmatian dots, and neon-pink bows at the sides connecting front and back. Kate didn't really care. She was tall and slim, with an athletic build, and she'd heard more than one person say she'd look good in a potato sack. Her New York friends and family who'd helped her cultivate a hipster-bordering-on-goth image over the last few years, would be shocked to see her. Her skin was pale from spending most of the summer working or studying. She'd bleached her hair white-blonde and French-braided it into short pigtails that barely reached her shoulders. She wore no makeup, not even nail polish. And she found it amusing that every time she reinvented her look, there was a new category of people who just wouldn't recognize her, or who started noticing her, or who stopped. She'd always cared a lot more about what her body could do than how it looked, though. And right now, her body wanted to sack out on the beach.

Kate took out her lunch (pbj, apple, and carrot sticks) and her "Fundamentals of Law" textbook. She ate, while reading, with Brian Eno's "Music for Airports" playing softly in her Walkman headphones. After a while, she got bored with the studying (she was, in fact, a bit ahead in the reading for class) and she pulled out a Richard Castle mystery novel. This was a battered paperback, one of her favorites. She had the hardbound at home, but had picked this up at a used bookstore to tide herself over.

She smirked over at the ocean. "Tide myself over. God, if I weren't me, I'd never speak to myself again." The ocean didn't reply, per se, but she suddenly felt like an idiot. The water was so inviting, so beautiful. A large wave rolled in, dotted with seven or eight surfers who were able to shoot the curl, which rose above their heads by several feet. The translucent green wall of water thundered in. Waders and body-surfers scurried shrieking and laughing back up the beach, happily terrified. The lifeguard on his high seat bellowed something unintelligible through his megaphone.

Kate tucked her things back into her beach bag. She glanced around. There was a Hispanic family sitting together in beach chairs, with an assortment of small children playing in the sand while their tween siblings ran back and forth from the water. Kate caught the mother's eye, and they exchanged a brief smile and wave. Anybody who touched Kate's stuff was gonna catch hell from that woman.

Kate sauntered down to the waterline and waited, ignoring the "Hey, Baby!" catcall from a couple of passing beach bums. Her toes just touched the wet edge of foamy sand where the last wave had left its mark. The next wave that came in was a couple of inches higher, and she grinned as it lapped around her feet, then she felt herself sinking unevenly a few inches into the sand as the receding water undermined her. Now she waded out into the gentle surf. The West Coast beach experience is very different from the East Coast: summer afternoons are rarely muggy, and the seawater is cooled by an upwell from the Marianis Trench. Kate found it bracing once she got past her hips, then she just dove in and swam out, bodysurfing. The cold water felt amazing on her skin, and she realized with a pang how she'd missed the taste of salt water on her lips. How had she let an entire summer go by without going to the beach, either back home or out here? "I'd better watch it or I'll turn out like my mom," she frowned. "She just never _stops_."

She stayed with it for about forty-five minutes, until she got thirsty and needed to pee (a weird combination, but it happens). She had found footing in the shallower water and was just walking up to the beach when a rogue wave came in without warning, rearing up above her, although all she saw was its shadow. It knocked Kate upside the head, then smacked her down in the shallow water, and as it tumbled over her, she felt the water's weight pushing her face down into the sand. It was much bigger than the previous waves had been, rolling her like a rock in a tumbler. The front-close snap of her bikini top flew apart as her body was flipped and ground against the sand and gravel, and then she felt the water receding, pulling her out with the current, with nothing but sand to grab. She fought to reach the surface, made it, caught a desperate breath, then another shimmering, clear green wall hovered over her then broke apart, and slammed her down again, knocking her breath out. Now she was scared.

She was an East Coast swimmer and hadn't expected anything like this on a clear, warm day. Once again she fought through the churning, somewhat murky water toward the light. She flailed her hands up into the air and her head broke surface. Someone grabbed her left bicep with bruising strength, and hauled her up. For a moment, this induced some kind of panic response, and she clutched wildly, wordlessly, then she saw the man's silhouette and she managed to calm herself a little. He was wearing a black wet suit, and the bright-yellow surfboard jammed against her already-painful ribcage. He reared back, half dragging her onto the board, then he let go, and she scrabbled for him desperately.

"Don't pull me in." His warm, baritone voice was calm and somehow familiar. "Just hang onto the side of the board."

Kate coughed up some water and spluttered, "I'm fine. I just..." She shook her head. Although there were definite swells beneath them, the water had smoothed out, but she could no longer touch feet to the bay floor.

"You got sucked out by a sneaker wave," the man said. She peered up at him, silhouetted from the back by bright afternoon sun. He was wearing an absurd, wet, wide-brimmed hat and, while she couldn't see his face, his nose was a faint white triangle of sunscreen.

She caught her breath and said, "Thanks. I'm okay now. I'm a good swimmer."

"Well, last thing we need is a shark attack," he said. The voice was still calm, but he glanced around hastily.

"I'm _fine_ ," Kate insisted. She tried to make her hands disengage from the side of the board, but apparently her fingers had a lot more sense than her ego did.

"You're trailing blood in the water, your face is banged up, and God only knows what flows down from the Santa Cruz Boardwalk and into the bay, so you'd better get those cuts cleaned out before you get... tetanus or a staph infection or something. You just hang onto my board, I'll tow you in." Kate opened her mouth to argue, and he snapped, "You don't want to compromise anybody's safety, including mine. Right?"

Kate nodded meekly. To be honest with herself, she was exhausted and, out here in deeper water, the lower part of her body was very cold.

He slipped off his board and into the water, and tried to help Kate climb on. Somehow he seemed familiar, too... for a moment she thought he was that actor - Jason Bateman - but his sunglasses, hat, and three days of scruff rather hid his features. Now that the light hit his face, she could see his expression: odd, surprised, amused, embarrassed, yet intrigued.

His voice squeaked just a little as he chuckled, "Were you, uh, skinny-dipping?" He turned his head away toward shore.

"No!" she replied, puzzled, then glanced down and realized her $12 bikini top had fallen apart altogether, hanging uselessly off her shoulders, the silly little triangles flapping off the ends of the halter strap. "Oh, hell!" She tried to fasten the clasp, but needed two hands, and she couldn't hold onto the board at the same time. "Shit!" She wrapped her suddenly-too-skinny arm across her chest.

"No worries," he said, and kicked hard, pulling the board into a gentle wave. It gave up its energy without offering anything like a surf-worthy curl. They coasted toward land. He added, "Just stay down. Flat on your, uh, chest. You can hide behind my board once we reach land."

Kate shook her head. "No, that's okay, I'll be..."

"Here we are."

The water receded, leaving her standing in progressively less of it, and she looked down at herself, trying to pull the shredded bikini top back together. There was a wolf whistle from an encampment of blankets and towels in the near distance, and a group of guys drinking beer raised their cans to her. "Hey, girl, wanna party?

Kate's rescuer pulled off his brimmed hat – which had kept its shape despite being soaked through, so was probably designed for water use - and thrust it to cover her chest. It worked out reasonably well. She took the hat and compressed it over her breasts. He said, "I blew a lot of money on that hat, try not to bleed on it too much." She glanced down, and saw scrapes on her elbow and knuckles, her hipbone, her left ribcage, her knee, and from the pain, there was probably another on her shoulder blade in back. Her cheekbone stung as well.

But what stung more was the realization when he took off the hat, then raised his sunglasses, employing them as a band to keep the wet hair from flopping into his eyes.  
He was Richard Freaking Castle, and his book was on her beach towel, and his photo was on its back cover. She said, "Holy crap."

He must have thought she was talking about her wounds. "Come on," he said, turning with his board, and she followed him up the beach, while silently wanting to run away. But she felt conspicuously far from her own gear, and would have to run a gauntlet of mocking strangers, alone, to get there.

They approached an over-sized red beach umbrella shading a hideous Mexican blanket, the kind sold to tourists when the nights get cold. It was white, hot-pink, teal, and ultramarine with touches of black. There they found a five-year-old girl in a lavender rash-guard suit, rummaging in an immense backpack. She looked up at them and grinned, her blue eyes, so like her father's, dancing merrily. A finger over her lips, she whispered, "Shhh. Gina's asleep."

In the sun just beyond the umbrella, a stunning, tanned, well-oiled, curvaceous blonde lounged in a very tasteful but expensive bikini on a very expensive folding chair. Her coral-pink mouth was slightly open, and she snorted very softly, then smacked her lips. There was a seagull examining her pink little toenail, clearly wondering if it might make a good snack. Kate noticed the woman was wearing a wedding set on the hands clasped across her perfectly toned stomach. The diamond in her engagement ring was roughly the size of Half Dome.

The little girl whispered, "Seagulls like potato chips". She tossed a fragment toward the bird, who hopped down to snag it, then hopped back up on Gina's lounge chair to examine her toes.

Richard Freaking Castle rummaged around in their pile of belongings, which looked like he might have hired a Sherpa to transport to their picnic site. He said quietly, "Can you help Daddy find the first aid kit, Pumpkin?"

The girl nodded conspiratorially and spoke to Kate as if she'd known her all her life. "Blood freaks Gina out." She produced the first aid kit from the side pocket of the large backpack. "But we can deal."

Richard Freaking Castle motioned to the second very expensive lounge chair, which was in the shade, and Kate sat down, still clutching the hat for modesty's sake. They heard some shrieking behind them, of children and teens down at the waterline, and looked out to see another unusually large wave come in. It traveled up the beach a good ten feet higher than anything else that had come through since Kate was pulled out.

"That's so _weird_ ," Kate said. "Is that what happened to me?"

"I guess there's a series of big waves coming in. But we're a good fifty feet from the water. We should be fine, it doesn't come up this high unless there's a storm," Castle said. His gaze raked the clear sky. His eyes... she felt an odd flutter in her stomach. They really were _that_ blue. She looked away, and he continued, "That seems unlikely just now." He dabbed at Kate's cheek with some antiseptic wipes then put ointment on it. "Won't need a bandage on that one," he said. He then went around to look at her back, cleaned out the cut on her shoulder blade, then dressed it. "Doesn't look like you'll need stitches anywhere."

Kate peered down at the scrapes on her torso. "I can do the rest of it."

He looked with concern at her ribs. "There's a pretty big bruise coming up from under the scrape. Just... lift your elbow out of the way but hold onto your hat."

"It's your hat, Daddy," said Pumpkin. "Hey, you can have my T-shirt."

Pumpkin had a little knapsack of her own, and pulled out a tween-sized T-shirt, very oversized for herself but a little small for Kate. It was pink with sparkly hearts and flowers silk-screened on it, and the words "Cutey-Pie!" in purple cursive.

"Thank you so much!" Kate whispered, reaching out for the shirt.

"Not till you're cleaned up!" insisted Pumpkin's Daddy. Kate had a dad of her own: she knew the Dad voice well enough to not bother arguing. Working at the scrape on her ribs, he picked a couple of pieces of sand out with some tweezers. She hissed through gritted teeth, but kept it quiet. She felt somehow loath to awaken Gina, the bronze goddess, as she baked away in the California sunshine. Kate had seen Gina before in passing, at one of Castle's book signings. They didn't seem like much of a match – Castle seemed decent enough but Gina? Something of a harpy. A very attractive, stylish harpy.

Kate decided not to mention being a fan. As it was, he'd already seen at least a glimpse of her tits, which he seemed to find understandably negligible compared to Gina's bronzed and pricey mounds of glory. And here he was dabbing away at her injuries, the picture of a dutiful dad, both of them trying hard not to let embarrassment overwhelm. He obviously had no interest in flirting with her or trying to get into her way-too-tacky bikini bottoms; he was just doing something nice for a stranger. Throwing her knowledge of his books into the mix would only make things worse.

She tried to ignore the warmth of his hands as he worked gently on her injury. She was still pretty wet, and in the umbrella's shade, when the breeze caressed her skin, goosebumps came up. She shivered.

He paused, waiting patiently, his voice quiet, until she had collected herself. "Almost done. Try to hold still."

Pumpkin was surprisingly helpful in this aspect: she was a no-nonsense child. "You can put my shirt on!" She was as excited as if a mermaid had walked up out of the waves to play dress-up.

Kate nodded. "Thanks." She ducked her head forward, Pumpkin stretched the neckline wide and shucked the shirt down to Kate's shoulders.

One hand at a time, Kate pushed her hands through the armholes, then she swore quietly. "Oh, I forgot about my elbows!" She'd streaked blood on the sleeves. "I'm so sorry! I'll replace it, I know how it stains..."

The little girl shrugged. "It's okay. My mom gave it to me. I hate pink."

Castle shrugged. "Good thing you don't mind a little red." He ruffled his daughter's orange hair with a smile. Then he looked at Kate's bicep anxiously; where he'd first grasped her, he'd bruised her. "God, I'm so sorry."

She shook her head. "Unavoidable. Don't worry about it."

Just then Gina shrieked and exploded out of her lounge chair. "GODDAMMIT, BIRD! SONOFABITCH!" Everyone jumped, and the seagull flew away with a squawk. "That little bastard tried to eat my toe!" She looked genuinely miffed.

Richard Freaking Castle admonished, "Gina? Language?" and indicated his very small, blushing daughter. Gina yanked off her sunglasses and stared into the shade at Kate, who wondered if she really oughtn't to have left sooner.

"Rick?" said Gina. She gave her husband a puzzled, awkward smile. He was doing something to a pretty girl's elbow, with Alexis looking on, un-phased by the odd situation. Then Gina saw the first aid kit, then the bloody scrapes on Kate's knees, and her head swam. Maybe she'd spent a little too much time in the sun. She wobbled. "Whew, stood up too fast there!"

Castle rushed over to Gina and steadied her, walking her back into the shade. Gina parked her perfect bottom on the ugly beach blanket (Rick had bought it at a street market in Acapulco for about $10, and Gina absolutely hated it even though it was soft and never faded or tore). He went to the cooler and took out some expensive bottled water, first handing one to Gina, who rubbed her eyes and said, "Whoa, I'm seeing spots."

He said, "Just relax. You'll be okay." Then he offered one toward Kate, as if he were trying to lure in a feral animal. "Thirsty?"

Kate actually was very thirsty, but she was still cold. "No, thanks, I'll be going in a moment."

Pumpkin noticed Kate's shivering. "Daddy, did we bring hot chocolate?"

"Thermos. Backpack left pocket." He was working on Kate's right elbow now. "I'll let you get your knees yourself."

That was probably for the best. He also left her to manage the scrape on her hipbone, which she was able to see and reach easily. She looked at her half-shredded bikini bottom and realized what a thin thread had lain between herself and total humiliating disaster. "That is the _last_ time I wear a string bikini in public," she muttered. Quickly as she could, she cleaned up the cuts. "I really don't think these need bandages," she insisted.

Castle shrugged. "Suit yourself." He was packing up the first aid kit, tossing the bandage wrappers and used wipes into a grease-spotted fast food bag they were using for trash.

About a hundred feet away, the lifeguard was again hollering something unintelligible through his bullhorn, then blew his whistle repeatedly. Kate shook some seawater out of her ear. "What's he saying?"

Rick shook his head. "I dunno, but he has a grand future making PA announcements for the New York Transit Authority."

Gina smirked. "LA's closer."

"Yeah," Rick said. "But all they ever say is 'Duuude.'"

Kate turned away to hide a snicker, and Gina rolled her eyes. Pumpkin had set up four white styrofoam cups in the sand, and carefully poured herself some hot chocolate. "You want some?" she said to Kate.

Kate hesitated.

"Secret family recipe," Gina said. "They won't tell me what they put in it."

"Someday," the little girl said, pouring another cup.

Rick bent to kiss his wife's shoulder. "If you're really nice to us."

Gina chuckled, turning her head to kiss his cheek. "Start with shaving. Then I'll be nice."

Pumpkin handed the cocoa to Kate, and Kate took an appreciative sip.

"Wow." She stood. "Thanks again, for rescuing me and the, uh, first aid."

Castle nodded. "You're very welcome. Least I could do. In retrospect, wouldn't want to have to refer to you as my old chum."

Kate snickered and rolled her eyes again. Alexis dissolved in a fit of giggles.

"Old chum?" Gina said. "You know one another?"

Castle hesitated, for perhaps a fraction of a second, and Kate wondered if he recognized her from … somewhere. "No, I mean she was bleeding into the water, and I wasn't the mood to be shark bait."

"Oh, my god..." Gina whined. "That is horrible. Wait. That was a pun. A _shark_ pun? Oh, God, Richard," she face palmed. " _Must_ you?"

Kate smiled. "I should be going."

Castle winced apologetically. "Was it the puns?"

"Left my stuff too long..." she hesitated, waving in the direction of her gear, over by the bluff. "Can I mail the shirt to you somewhere? Or a replacement?"

Castle shook his head. "Consider it a gift. Also, please do not return the used band-aids. We have plenty."

Kate grinned. "Okay, then." She bit her lip, and Castle stood, offering his hand to shake. It was huge, warm, strong, and she was reminded of how it had felt when he pulled her, gasping for life, out of the water.

"Thanks," she said, and raised her cup to Pumpkin. "Thanks for everything."

She smiled down at Gina, who stood as well, to take Rick's arm, leaning into him possessively. "You're welcome," said Gina brightly. "Now you be careful out there next time!" Her left hand was curled around Rick's bicep, and Kate could have sworn the gigantic diamond actually winked at her.

Kate smiled, waved shyly, and hurried off, acutely conscious that Pumpkin's little Cutey-Pie! Tee shirt barely reached to her navel, and her own somewhat ragged bikini bottoms were briefer than most of her underwear. She presumed that if she were to look back, Richard Freaking Castle would be fully absorbed in his happy family, having more-or-less forgotten all about her. She presumed correctly, especially since the lifeguard was giving an order to clear the beach as a precaution. 4A buoy offshore had measured some more big waves coming in.

For the first time, Kate missed her own folks a little, and wondered if they might enjoy a visit out to the West Coast with her. She and her dad had traveled out together in '97 when she was shopping for colleges. They were wowed by Muir Woods and blown away by Yosemite and gobsmacked by Death Valley. But her mom had been too deeply involved in some case to come with them. As for this past summer back at home, her mom had been no fun at all, preoccupied, sometimes snapping at people for no good reason. Kate figured maybe she was getting menopausal or something.

Kate stopped, scanning around the beach for her things, seized with panic. The nice Hispanic family had packed up and gone. Where where her pants, her shoes, her towel... oh. There, right where she'd left them. She yanked her jeans on, then her own tee over Pumpkin's, then her sandals, and packed her towel and books into her pack. She finished the last of her hot chocolate, walking up the beach toward the stairs. She used the bathroom by the Cocoanut Grove, then made for the bus stop.

While she was waiting, she looked out over the water. Another big wave was coming in. As she watched, it crashed against the restaurant at the end of the pier, then continued along, smacking each pillar with a roar, and sent folks running up the beach in panic. She heard distant screams that sounded a good deal more sincere than anything coming from the Boardwalk. Now tourists and fishermen were evacuating from the pier, some of them wet and bloody. Apparently the wave had been high enough to break some windows and nearly sweep a lady and her Yorkie off the end. Kate heard sirens in the distance. She wasn't quite at the point where she could tell them apart, but there were likely police, fire, and ambulances.

She glanced over at the big umbrella where Richard Freaking Castle and his Freaking Little Family were hastily, but calmly, closing up camp, and debated whether she should return to help them. But she had a bus to catch, and they were in no danger as yet. The water hadn't come too close to them, but apparently the rogue waves coming in were unusually strong, and the local beat police had joined up with the lifeguards to clear the beach, and now lookie-loos were interfering with the evacuation, judging by the chaos.

Kate thought, "It would suck to be a cop. People can be such idiots."

The 4:30 bus to San Jose arrived a moment later. Kate paid her fare, settled into her seat, and was already absorbed in her music and book by the time the bus merged onto Highway 17 northbound. Back on campus in the student cafe that evening, she learned that the rogue waves had been generated by a strong storm off the coast of Mexico. It had decimated the restaurant at the end of the pier, hurt thirty people, and swept someone off the rocks and out to sea, never to be found.

She shuddered. She was a good swimmer, and she knew how to deal with rip currents, but she wondered what would have happened had Richard Castle not been out with his family that day. And then she wondered what might have happened to him, had he not been called ashore by her predicament. She decided not to tell her folks during their weekly phone call. Johanna Beckett had been worried enough at having her baby girl clear across the country. Tales of near-drowning wouldn't help, even if she did wind up having been rescued by one of her mother's favorite authors. Best to keep quiet about it.

As for Richard Castle, any thoughts of the sullen, pale, white-blonde teen he'd patched up were driven clean out of his mind by Gina's enthusiastic attentions that evening. They had a luxury suite booked at the Hilton down in Monterey, and planned to visit the aquarium the next day. They ordered dinner and a pitcher of margaritas from Room Service, and put a video of The Little Mermaid on for Alexis, who munched contentedly on a kid-size burrito and tortilla chips. Then Gina invited her husband into the shower to help her remove all that suntan oil, an inch at a time. But first, she made Rick shave that damn scruff.

Simply because she could.

* * *

A/N  
 _I appear to be addicted to these characters. Some of the incidents are based on my own experiences. Unfortunately meeting my favorite author is not part of the equation. Two things I'll warn you about: buy your bikini early in the season, and never turn your back on the Pacific Ocean. Trust me on this._


End file.
